Hecht was becoming impatient. What the ascendant really wanted was company.
“I’ll release you in a moment, Captain-General.”
Hecht could not move.
“Those like Kharoulke prey on benign Instrumentalities. That explains how the Windwalker gets stronger when the wells of power are dying.”
“Not a secret.”
“Of course. But the dark Instrumentalities have never been so efficient. Not even Kharoulke’s generation, before they were defeated and constrained. They’ve changed. They’ve become devourers.”
Hecht noted the use of “they.” “There are others? Besides the Windwalker?”
“Yes. They’re still blind and only beginning to waken. But mortals are looking for them, wanting to quicken them. Hoping to become them.”
“Er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen.”
“First try. Go. Enjoy your war. Cleanse the Connec of revenant Night. But your success won’t stay that nation’s doom.”
Hecht could move. He did so instantly, despite having a thousand questions.
The ascendant was amused.
Cloven Februaren should be careful. This thing was no dim pirate.
Brothe was calm. Pinkus Ghort told the Captain-General, “I almost wish you could stay around, Pipe. It’s so quiet.”
“Enforce that yourself. You have the power and the men.”
“And could be out of a job. I’m not on the payroll to keep the peace. I’m here to make sure Brothe runs the way Bronte Doneto and the Five Families want it to run. In that order. They could hardly care less if the lower classes murder each other. And they’re behind the Colors.”
Those political parties, once just passionate partisans of various racing teams, had been quiescent since the collapse of the hippodrome. Which had been reconstructed sufficiently that a partial racing season was set for the coming summer. Street politics would come along with. Had begun already and were in abeyance only because the Patriarchal garrison was intolerant of disorder.
Hecht said, “I’ll enjoy it from afar. If it gets to be too much, come see me. The militias of the various Patriarchal States desperately need reorganization.”
“Thought you already did that.”
“I tried. Against a lot of inertia. A couple more tries, I’ll get them hammered into a tool that’s ready to use when I need it.”
Something flickered behind Ghort’s eyes. A shadow. A thought he did not care to share. “I’m glad I’m not at the tip of the spear no more. Here I’ve got some control over my life. I can squirrel away a little wealth.”
Hecht filed that for consideration. That would be Pinkus Ghort expressing shadow thoughts as plainly as he dared.
Hecht had a row with Pella. The boy did not want to stay behind. Hecht ended it. “I promised Anna. I keep my promises. If your studies don’t keep you out of trouble, Principat? Delari can find something for you to do.”
Madouc visited Hecht in his office in the Castella. “Captain-General.”
“Madouc.” Coolly. Displeasure carefully constrained.
“I want to withdraw my resignation. If you will permit.”
“What’s changed, Madouc? I’ll never be any different.”
“I understand. I was tired and frustrated. The trip to Fea, with all that bad weather, broke me. I’ve had time to get over it.”
Hecht had not replaced Madouc. It was not a pressing concern. “All right. Get caught up.”
“Thank you, Captain-General. I’ll try to be less prickly.”
Cloven Februaren told Hecht, “Addam Hauf told Madouc to come back. He got bumped up two stages inside the Brotherhood hierarchy and proclaimed chief observer of Piper Hecht. You’ll see some changes among your lifeguards. Several who aren’t Brotherhood will go. Others who are will be replaced by men less captivated by you personally.”
“Ah. So now I’ll be like the old-time emperors. Protected from everything except my protectors.”
“Seems to be the idea.”
“I shouldn’t have let him come back.”
“Better the devil you know.”
“Possibly.”
“Take care. I won’t be around much anymore. Other chores need my attention.”
Hecht said only, “I’ll miss you, then.”
“The Connec should present no special challenges. Just be alert. And let Madouc do his job. He’s good at it. When you let him be.”
“I get the message.”
The Captain-General undertook one last unpleasant chore before leaving Brothe. In company with his lifeguards he rode out to a small Bruglioni estate southeast of the Mother City.
Gervase Saluda had recovered some. He now occupied a wheeled chair. A blanket covered his lap. “To hide the fact that they took my left leg,” he said in response to Hecht’s glance. “Gangrene.”
“I hadn’t heard.”
“You’re a barrel of surprises, Captain-General. I never expected you to come out here.”
“I’ve moved on but I do owe the Bruglioni. Without you I’d be just another sword looking for work.”
“I doubt that. The gods themselves watch over you.”
Not a particularly apposite remark from a Prince of the Church. But Hecht was not treating Saluda as a Principat?.
“I have been lucky. And the Bruglioni haven’t. What will you do now?”
“Recover. And try not to turn bitter.”
“For the family. You understand? You are the Bruglioni, today. I hear Paludan hasn’t died, but isn’t much alive anymore, either. He can’t manage anything. His surviving relatives aren’t going to do the Bruglioni any good. Which, I should think, puts you in a fix.”
There was pain in Saluda’s expression. He had not yet shaken his physical distress sufficiently to explore his future.
“You’re the Bruglioni Principat?” Hecht said. “But will that last if there isn’t a Bruglioni family behind you? The other families don’t love you.”
“I know. They think Paludan chose me because I was his lover. That’s not true. Or because I have some unnatural influence over him. Never because I was the best available.”
“You were the best. You’re still the best. But if Gervase Saluda doesn’t step back from the Collegium and take charge of the Bruglioni fortunes, the family is going to collapse.”
After a moment, Saluda said, “I should just roll this chair onto the Rustige Bridge and right off into the Teragi.”
“A simple solution but not the one I hope to see.”
“Yes?”
“I’ll help if I can. For what good that is, with me away in the Connec.”
“Oh. Good on you.” Saluda looked skeptical.
The Captain-General reached Viscesment at the head of troops numbering several hundred more than he had detached to keep order in Brothe and neighboring Firaldia. The new Patriarch had authorized the use of any force necessary to clear the Connec of revenants. And, in a secret directive, of agents of the Society for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy. Too many members of that harsh order had gone underground rather than disband, their defiance fertilized by Anne of Menand’s covert support.
Hecht carried letters from Bellicose authorizing Count Raymone Garete to act against any monk or priest who refused to conform to the will of the Patriarch. Though he could only catch the renegades and turn them over to the ecclesiastical courts. Where they were too likely to be judged by sympathizers.
Clej Sedlakova, Hagan Brokke, and other trusted staffers assembled at Viscesment, in the Palace of Kings. With the Anti-Patriarchy ended, the Palace stood empty. The Patriarchals took over, which reduced the strain of their presence in the city.
Nothing critical needed deciding. The staff had managed well in their commander’s absence. “Makes me worry,” Hecht told no one in particular. “You men are either so good you don’t need me, or the job is so easy any fool can do it.”
His staff were all shrugs and smiles.